Visions
by Wiggles123
Summary: Two months into knowing Fry, Bender feels insecure about his attachment to him, and tells himself that he doesn't need any human, especially Fry. A nightmare about Fry's demise will soon prove him wrong and VERY wrong. (Frender/Fender/Fendship- FryxBender/BenderxFry)


(This fiction is set in late February/early March, the year 3000. Bender and Fry have been living together for more than a week after that whole apartment incident, and have only known each other for a little less than two months. I tried to model how their relationship was portrayed in season one to the best of my ability. ** _Warning: Has mild gore and angsty themes._** Written for my friend, robotmonarchy!)

The only things they had so far were the tiny fruit tree Leela had gifted them, a couch they found on the side of the street that appeared to riddled with holes and various unidentified stains, and the shabby t.v. that was next to it on the curb. The posters and other frat-house-equse decorations were still at poor Doctor Mabouhtu's old place, and would probably stay there for the next month or six. Fry was really gonna miss that giant, HD television though. He could practically see the pores in everyone's skin on that thing! But, he figured, as long as he could still watch _ All My Circuits, _and Bender was safely drunk enough to function, then this little fuzzbox of a t.v. would be alright. It was a small price to pay for his best friend's peace of mind, he supposed.

Fry was sprawled out, shirtless on the frayed excuse for a couch, Slurm-in-hand and pizza-on-belly, the red sauce dripping on his abdomen. The grainy t.v. crackled on a low volume as it sat on the floor without a table for it to rest on. The room itself was fairly dim, despite the pale light from the crinkly screen, so Fry couldn't help but close his eyes. Besides, Bender would be back soon with something else to put in this bland apartment anyw-

"I got a lamp, Flesh-Wad." Bender kicked open the door and flipped the light-switch, waking his roommate. "Humans like lamps, right?"

Fry sat up with messy hair and rubbed his eye, blinking to clear his vision enough to leer at the ugly green lamp in Bender's hand that looked like it was stolen from an old lady's house.

"I stole it from an old lady's house." Bender confirmed nonchalantly, "Figured she didn't need it cause that ol' broad had Social Security checks up the _ass,_ heheh... So what're you doing?"

"I _was_ trying to sleep." Fry yawned, "It's one in the morning probably." (Not that he could tell time accurately without a clock on hand. It was actually sometime around nine P.M.)

"Yeah, but sleep is for chumps and ladies." Bender snorted condescendingly and kicked the hideous lamp into the corner of the room, hand-on-hip. "Move over."

Fry obeyed, lurching his sleepy body to a sitting position on the left side of the couch so that the robot could take his place beside him to watch whatever was being rerun on t.v. that night. Bender seemed to be in an okay mood, which was a relief to both of them. Bender was awfully tired of feeling bad about himself, and Fry could say the same, because when Bender was in one of his moods, Fry had hell to pay to put it lightly. And Fry _really_ didn't have the energy to fight off one of Bender's atomic wedgies tonight. Now, because the ambiance was so suspiciously peaceful, they both began to doze off after a short while.

The robot stretched, sighing contentedly, and curling his legs up onto the couch. He was actually quite exhausted after that hard day of searching for a lamp, and really didn't mind powering-down on the couch next to the meatbag. In fact, Bender prided himself and had even bragged to Fry on the idea that he, a superior robotic being, could sleep almost anywhere, hygienically and safely, unlike those gross humans. _Ha._ Pathetic humans. Always complaining that they want to be "warm" and "comfortable," sweating and drooling all over the place and snoring like bull-dogs. _Yuck._

Human sleep was disgusting, Bender knew that very well, and perhaps that made it ever-so-much harder for him to admit to himself that he was okay with Fry sleeping so close to him. _More than okay with it._ Truth be told, when he and Fry slept in that little room together a few weeks back, Bender was the most content he'd ever been before, knowing he had someone important to wake up to, not point-five cubic meters away. Fry was warm and smelled like pop-tarts, and snored like a clunky washing-machine. It was somehow pleasant to the robot, and if it was truly life or death, Bender would've maybe confessed to thinking Fry looked kind of sweet when he was asleep.

The robot wrenched his amber optics open, and boy did he look _pissed._ Immediately, his thoughts grew vicious, as he certainly did _not_ like the route his train of thought was heading down. It went against everything he believed in. Fry was not _cute,_ he corrected himself. Fry was one of those nasty humans with an overbite and sweat glands. His very breathing was annoying and he was too dumb to even tie his own shoes. He, the great Bender, claiming any human was worth his precious time? _Unheard of._ Bender refused to let himself think such fluffy nonsense about an inferior lump of squish that peed in beer bottles because they didn't have a bathroom yet. Yes, he welcomed these cruel notions about his best friend with fervor, wanting to distance himself as much as possible from the likes of that carbon-based loser. Maybe it was because he was too proud to allow himself to stay so close to his human counterpart, or maybe it was because he was scared of his own feelings, but either way, the robot swiftly stood from his place on the couch and marched his shiny, metal ass back into his own small room, slamming the sliding door behind him. Fry had already passed out on the armrest, and didn't notice the display.

 _(I hate him, I hate him, he's nothing to me and I hate him.)_ Bender played this mantra in his mind on a loop as he began to power down, alone in his claustrophobically dark room. He wasn't used to such a flood of positive feelings, especially about someone other than himself (even worse when that someone happened to be non-robotic,) and had no clue how to handle this rush of tender emotion. Naturally, he decided to take it out on the object of all these feelings, and started imagining the most satisfying way to murder him. A glass shard to the throat, a punch through the chest, some wire around a vital artery...

But, strangely, none of these homicidal thoughts left Bender feeling fulfilled, as expected. Instead, the robot sensed a sloshy sickness growing in his gut as he lost consciousness, and wondered why that was...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was startled by the sound of glass shattering. Fry was probably just drinking a beer and dropped it, the numbskull. Bender concluded this uneasily, and tried to shut his optics again. That's when the robot heard what seemed like heavy boots clomping over the shards. Fry never wore boots, only sneakers, and Bender knew that. That wasn't his Fry. Someone else must've somehow broken in. Frantically, he slammed the button that usually opened the door into his roommate's space, but nothing happened. He punched it again, and still nothing, and again, and zilch. Bender soon realized that this was not working and dug his fingers into the corner of the door's thin frame.

"Fry?!" He called anxiously as he jerked at the hatchway with all his spectacular, inhuman strength. He was a bender, dammit! Built to be impossibly strong, to twist iron like it was dough! Why the hell couldn't he pull open this rotten door?

"Bender? Is that you?" He heard Fry inquire, muffled through the wall. But the plod of those same, dense boots didn't seem to be too far behind the unknowing redhead. Bender instantly resorted to clawing harder at the goddamn door, almost crying with frustration and worry. This couldn't be happening. But at least nothing too bad seemed to be occurring on the opposite side of the barrier. Bender took some comfort in that.

That's when the sound of Fry screaming rang through the apartment.

 _"FRY!"_ Bender howled, slamming his fists against the wall between them. It wasn't working, _why the hell wasn't it working?!_ No matter how hard the robot kicked and pounded and begged, this door was not budging. Fry continued shouting and squealing, sounding pained, but under the ruckus of Bender's own panicked struggles, he couldn't hear what Fry was saying. Bender felt sick to the core. This was like nothing he'd ever known, fearing for someone else's life. The barking, the screaming, the thick raps and empty, dissatisfying crashes of his own weight colliding with the wall, all of it blurred into a mess of anxious noise. Bender was _trapped!_

Suddenly, everything went quiet on the other side. Bender stopped his fight for a moment, listening carefully through the door, yet hearing nothing but a few slow steps of some bulky shoes, and then, silence...

Bender stood there stolidly, feeling almost numb as he waited for some sort of sign that Fry was okay, panting like a bull. He slowly lifted his fingertips to press them against the immovable surface in front of him, but was surprised when it speedily slid wide open, all by itself.

The apartment was black. Literally black, as he could not see anything but a silhouette that he was very familiar with, an outline that he knew like no other, crumpled like a soda can on the floor.

"Oh _God-"_ Bender scrambled to his side, clasping Fry's face in his small, silver hand. He patted it sharply a few times as he hoisted the redhead's upper-body into his lap. The kid's eyes were closed loosely, and his body was limp. "Wake up, dammit, wake up!" Bender whined as he felt the stubbly skin of Fry's cheek grow colder. There was a dark red stream dripping from his mouth and nose, and Bender could feel a warm, thick dampness around his legs that was pouring rapidly from his soft stomach. He could tell there was no breath moving through Fry's body. "C'mon, Meatbag, don't be like this." He pled, rubbing Fry's hairline, his lips, his cheekbone with a steel thumb. _"You're such a dumbass, Fry._ Just, please- wake up, will ya? We can watch that stupid movie about a Breakfast club or whatever that you never shut up about, _anything,_ just, lemme see you open up them eyes- I got you a friggin lamp, Fry. _You owe me this."_ Bender was really fighting back a sob as cool, blue tears welled up in his optics. He couldn't help the kid. He wasn't a doctor, and they didn't even have a phone to call an ambulance with. Besides, Bender somehow knew that it was far too late already, and hugged his best friend's lukewarm body to his chest. _"Please, God._ "

He took it back. He took it all back. Bender didn't want this. He didn't want Fry dead. He'd take anything but this- Take his money, take his stuff, throw him in hell for all eternity for all he cared, _as long as Fry got to live!_ His poor, sweet, little meatbag. Who could've done this to someone so kind? To someone who had found it in his heart to care about someone as unlovable as Bender? To someone Bender actually loved? Why in Satan's glorious name was this happening to him?

Fry had saved Bender's life not two months ago, and Bender had failed at saving his.

Bender shivered with grief and confusion, and let out an agonized howl, still clutching what was left of his little buddy very tightly, when Fry's body shattered to dust in his arms. He froze in shock. Suddenly, the robot found he could not move, and the pool human blood around his aluminum legs had hardened like cement in an instant. A low, drawn-out creaking rumbled slowly as it rose through Bender's being, a black fog hurriedly rolling over vision.

 _What the actual-_

xxxxxxxxx

Bender felt stiff rust around his eyes, and a little around his mouth as he pried open the lids of his optics. His cheeks were still wet with turquoise, simulated tears. He was in his room, all by his lonesome, with some of the most relieving knowledge he'd ever recognized: _It was all a horrible dream._

"Fry." He whispered to himself and pushed the door's button very quickly, and just like that, the thing slid open. Bender could sense his eyes beginning to water again as he rushed his way to where Fry was sleeping, on the couch. That had been the most vivid dream he'd ever had in his entire life. It wasn't a sea of ones and zeroes like usual, but an actual night terror that hit him right where it hurt and shocked his system completely. His circuits themselves felt zapped as he stood in front of a snoring Philip J. Fry and violently shook his frail shoulder shouting "Fry, get up!"

"Huh, wha, what happened?" Fry sat up, falsely alert, his eyes darting around the room. He relaxed when he saw it was just Bender. "Oh, hey Bender. What's wrong? You look weird." And Fry was right, he _did_ look weird. His visors and mouth were kind of rusty, his optics looked dim, and for the first time ever, Fry got to witness a hint of genuine remorse in the robot's expression. As usual, Fry was befuddled, but didn't try to make any rational inferences.

Bender wanted to tell Fry what had occurred, he wanted to fess up to everything; He ached to throw himself into Fry's lap, and spill his guts about his nightmare, about how he never wanted Fry to die ever in a quadrillion years, even how he was actually, well, _sorry._ But he couldn't admit all that, as he was not humble enough. So instead, the robot just smiled a bit, as he observed the Fry's unkempt, orange hair and the bags under his hazel eyes. He was alive, and he was safe. What more could he ask for? Well, a mansion wouldn't be so bad, but he was more than happy with a living Fry for now.

Abruptly, Bender reached his arms out and forced the redhead into a much-needed bear hug.

"You miserable bastard. You lousy tick." He sighed, burying his face in Fry's neck. "I think I'm gonna stay out here with you tonight."

"Like a sleepover." Fry said breathlessly, still being squeezed like a squishy-toy. "Sounds fun."

Bender let go of his best friend, and pulled away with his metallic hands still on his shoulders. He looked him over for a brief moment, assuring there were no stab-wounds on his bare tummy, (briefly finding himself concerned with the pizza sauce slathered around his naval, but quickly identified the substance,) before scooping him up like a parent would a child, and laying back down on the couch with Fry in his arms. It was a good position for the both of them. Fry made a face as he pressed his back onto Bender's icy chest. This was very unlike Bender, and he was quite curious what the cause of this sudden burst of affection was. Not that Bender would admit to it, even if he asked. As much as he would like Fry to know how much he meant to him, he was far too proud to confess to loving something so below him.

"This isn't exactly the most comfortable couch, Fry." Bender remarked satirically, into Fry's hair. "We really need to get you a bed."

"Didn't you tell me robots could sleep anywhere they wanted?" Fry garbled back, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"Not with your boney elbows." Bender scoffed, shifting his weight so that said boney elbows weren't poking him. He would've been much more content next to Fry in a real bed than on a cramped, junkyard couch with the shoddy t.v. 's light in his eyes.

Well, he was sure he could find an old mattress _somewhere_ in this city. He'd look for one tomorrow, one that was big enough for the both of them, incase he had another nightmare anytime soon...


End file.
